


upon which i stand

by nishinoya



Category: League of Legends, League of Legends RPF
Genre: Angst, G2 esports, M/M, Pining, Unrequited Love
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-10-14
Updated: 2020-02-14
Packaged: 2020-12-15 00:00:35
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 4,321
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21024398
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nishinoya/pseuds/nishinoya
Summary: His heartstrings bleed the blues of the things he long for and suddenly, Mihael is floating in his dreams.





	1. the rock

**Author's Note:**

> inspired by coldplay's green eyes  
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=gmyq9tIiu8g

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "honey you are the rock, upon which i stand."

His dream starts with thin, translucent curtains fluttering in the breeze of an orange afternoon and three guitar strings, softly plucked on the tips of lithe, careful fingers.

Mihael opens his eyes to a room he's not quite unfamiliar with, a place his mind would never allow him to forget no matter how short or long his time there has been. Standing between a starch white bed and starch white walls, he's shocked by the truth of it all.

_Is this really a dream_, he wonders to himself. The scene is too familiar for his liking, a seemingly simple afternoon after scrims. Multiple t-shirts thrown haphazardly on a near-by desk, the muffled voices of his teammates through a slightly opened door (albeit a certain voice yelling in Polish filtered above the rest). There is a well-loved brown guitar, too, and a simple, beautiful tune floating around his conscience that makes him believe that he really is awake.

Of course, try as he might ignore it, there sits Luka— calmly focused on the frets of his cherished instrument, absentmindedly strumming the chords his fingers choose for him.

"Miky," Luka says as the tune quietly fades away. "What are you doing here?"

Luka looks up at him from his bed, eyes squinting as he softly smiles up towards his support. The warm light filters in through the curtains, the quiet autumn breeze just slight enough that Mihael feels the cool air. The light shines around Luka, surrounds him in its radiance as if he were the source of it all, and for a moment, Mihael falters.

There is something to be said about the truth of... whatever he feels in his chest when he looks over at Luka like this.

Is it an unwavering sense of belonging? An undeniable admiration? The flutterings of infatuation? Whatever it may be, he knows nothing but this: the one person that completes you... when you find them, Mihael thinks, it is not how it is in the stories.

They do not steal your breath away, do not make your stomach feel all tied up in ugly, difficult knots. There are no fireworks, no explosive exhilarations. Surely, there are no falling cherry blossom petals that make you feel like you're the destined protagonist of a spring romance anime.

That person... they're the ones that give you back the breath that you've been struggling to catch when you didn't even know you were drowning. That person feels like the familiar always winter mornings you long for from your hometown, the unwavering Slovenian sun rising silently beyond the horizon.

They are a quick, strong hug on stage after a victory, they are the lasting warmth of a hand on your neck while reviewing that victory with your team. They are the confident, insanely brave competitor in a league where sympathy and humility is lost somewhere between a lonely queue lobby and a victory screen.

They are reassurance and confidence, worry and fierce support, while you sit and watch your team practice without you with your wrists propped up, healing and healing and healing.

They are the quaint guitar melody that you just can't quite get out of your head, an acoustic nostalgia played on loop, sounding more lovelier than the last.

And, of course, they are that smile, Mihael thinks. There is always something about Luka's smile— green eyes and laughter lines— that he wants to keep seeing, wants to keep being the reason for for as long as he can.

"Sounded pretty good, that's all," he replies, slowly coming out of his thoughts. Walking around the small room, he sits on his bot laner's bed right besides him. "What is it you're playing?"

"Nothing really. Kinda just trying to make up my own thing." Luka answers while shifting over to make room for his friend.

Mihael hums in response, lying down on the bed, staring up at the ceiling. There is silence for a few moments. He knows somewhere in the back of his mind that this is a dream, and yet, it isn't. How many times has he laid like this, on his friend's bed, listening to those same melodies? Lingering there despite Luka's frustrations when he messes up the fingering, despite the "Miky, I think your presence distracts me", to which he would reply "Good." Despite the truth that deep down, he wants to be selfish enough, just this once, to stay.

Because Mihael lives in these silences, and whatever exists in between. He would be a fool, he thinks, to believe that there exists something real in that in between. Wishful thinking, the wisps of hope he can't seem to grasp no matter how far he reaches. He has always fiercely admired his friend ever since he joined the team (perhaps even since the days of a longing substitute and a rising mid laner). Silently, yet passionately, regarding him the point where it scared him, terrified him, when the realization hit that it was admiration... and much, much more.

"You okay, Miky?" Luka asks, breaking Mihael out of his reverie. He is looking down at him now, eyebrows lifted in question and a teasing smirk on the brink of laughter. "I didn't realize my playing is so bad for you to be able to look like that."

Mihael unfurrows his eyebrows, unaware of how they got to be like so in the first place. He opens his eyes wider, hoping for a more open appearance. Clearing his throat, he assures him, "Sorry, not you. Just thinking of some stuff."

And this... this is how he knows it's a dream. Because Luka gently puts his guitar down on its stand, and lies down on his crisp, white bed, parallel to his friend. Because Luka gingerly takes his hand in his own, and turns to face Mihael with those twinkling eyes and that whisper of a smile.

Because Luka is there in front of him, asking him "Is something bothering you?" so carefully, as if speaking louder would break him.

Mihael stares, and stares, and stares. His glasses distort his vision of his friend being so close, and all he can see is Luka. And this it what it feels like, dream or not. What it feels to be stuck inside your own head, knowing the person that makes you feel complete, makes you feel whole, doesn't feel the same way back. It's having your thoughts consumed by the mere abstract concept of 'us', no matter the task.

It's shit like this— a terrifyingly realistic distortion that leaves Mihael wishful and wanting more, leaves him empty knowing he can't have it. For fuck's sake, he can't even escape this while he's sleeping. He's plagued by the what if's and maybe's, but the truth of it all? There isn't anything to be done for it.

"Miky?" Luka brings his free hand to Mihael's face, eyes clouded in wonder with no response to his question. He uses his thumb to softly smooth over his support's cheek, stubble and all, "You know you can talk to me."

There is too much... _emotion_ alive in his friend's eyes that to Mihael, it hurts. The way that this perfect comfort only exists in his mind, only a mere fabrication of his deep, selfish desires. The way that all he wants is to give in and lean into the warmth of Luka's calloused palm, knowing that a hand, his hand, will always be offered to him, just like this.

It hurts and it hurts and this... this is how he knows it's a dream.

Mihael wakes up.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hi everyone :) this is my first time publishing a fic, so sorry for any errors!
> 
> this was purely self indulgent, inspired by coldplay's green eyes and the fact that perkz wont ever SHUT UP about how handsome miky is (is he wrong though?). these two will be the death of me, i swear it on uma jan and mr broken wrist  
thanks so much for reading this far and HAPPY MOTHERFUCKIN WORLDS!!! #G2GRANDSLAM #G2WIN


	2. the sea

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "honey you are the sea, upon which i float."

His dream starts with the distant roar of autumn waves, the rush of the ocean crashing through his ears and the sand of a lonely midnight beach.

Mihael opens his eyes to a place he’s not quite familiar with, a place his mind has seemingly conjured up in his wistful, dream state. Standing tall underneath the watchful eyes of the stars, he’s shocked by the familiarity of it all.

_ Is this really a dream, _he wonders to himself. He can’t remember the last time he’s been to a beach— can’t remember the last time he’s seen these crashing waves, smelled the salt and sand and everything in between_. _

The not-quite darkness casts along the beach, the water shimmering under the hints of a bright midnight moon beneath the clouds. There is the brisk autumn air that rustles Mihael’s already unkempt hair, the cold breeze felt to the bone despite his thick hoodie. There are voices in the distance, too; he looks further down the beach to see some of his team walking along the water, (albeit a certain voice in Polish filtered above the rest) going on (as they do) without a care in the world.

Of course, try as he might ignore it, there stands Luka just a few feet ahead of him— focused on the ocean and its endless horizon, hands in his pockets with that contemplative stare he sees so often on his friend’s face nowadays.

“Luka,” Mihael asks, although he isn’t sure where it comes from. “What are you doing here?”

His friend looks over at him from where he is, eyes squinting as he softly furrows his eyebrows, breaking free from whatever was keeping his mind. 

“Miky, what are you talking about?” Luka asks, making his way over to Mihael. “It was your idea to come here in the first place since we all couldn’t sleep.”

_ But I’m not even sure where _ here _ is, _ he thinks.

Before he could reply to his friend, the clouds move to make way for the watchful moon as if on some dream-state cue. The brisk wind brushes them along, leaving the bright light to illuminate the water beyond, the night beyond. Now, that moonlight shines just above Luka, casting him in its cold radiance as if the spotlight was meant for him and for a moment, Mihael falters.

There is something to be said about the simplicity of it all, of how _ this _ is what his mind unintentionally leads him to, what his mind longs for. 

Is it the silent serenity of a vast lonely beach? The expanse of darkness above him, the ever watchful stars over him? Is it the calm, playful demeanor of friends, despite _the _ international tournament looming over them? The disappearance of stresses and pressures laid onto them by fans and critics alike?

Or is it the mere simplicity of being here with Luka, like this? No watchers speculating their every move with that discerning public eye, only the two of them standing small in this dream wasteland of his. No expectations riddling his mind every second he’s awake, only silence to fill the welcoming void of _ grand slam _ and _ super team _ and _ Europe’s last hope_. 

No reality reminding him of the truth of it all, only his wants laid bare in his sleep for that one someone he simply can’t have.

“Miky?” Luka asks, breaking Mihael out of his reverie. His bot laner is directly in front of him now, eyebrows lifted in question with green eyes twinkling with almost laughter. “Is the cold freezing your brain or what?”

And just like that, of course Luka reaches over to him, strong arms pulling him in like its second nature. The shorter man holds in a chuckle but still gives into that always mischievous smile. The warmth is there, the feeling of _ home _ is there...

But despite his wishes, despite his _ wants_, Mihael doesn’t give in an inch to this dream, this distorted curse that feels too dangerously realistic for comfort.

Luka... has always been playful, albeit sometimes childlike, in his affections towards those he cares about. Unsurprisingly, Mihael knows this all too well. There is never a shortage of compliments when it comes from his friend, a constant trickle of small praises in that foolhardy, confident voice of his. "Miky, you are so fucking good at this game," and "Miky, you are so fucking handsome, it's actually insane." "Miky, you are the best support in the fucking world—"

Miky. Miky. Miky.

And unsurprisingly... he also knows this is just how Luka is. He knows it in the way Luka will pull Rasmus in for a hug after scrims because Rasmus is just that good (and deservedly so). The way Luka will lean his head on Martin's shoulder on the way home from the studio, acting as if he were his own personal pillow (despite the top laner’s vehement refutes). The way Luka will flame their MVP until ungodly hours, just because he knows Marcin loves to keep his mind running, loves the energy.

And so, Mihael doesn't take that praise to heart (at least, not in the way he would want to). When Luka comes up from behind him and his hug lasts a bit longer than usual, he decides that it's because Luka just wants some physical affection, no matter who it may be. When Luka pulls up his chair beside Mihael to watch Code Geass with him, he decides that it's because Luka is bored of solo queuing for hours on end— the slew of many, many defeat screens calling for a much needed change of scenery.

And when Luka constantly tells Mihael that he loves him, he decides that it's because Luka is just that kind of person, spreading his affection the only way he knows how to— always.

Because deciding these things on his own means that he doesn't have to dwell on the alternative, especially when his thoughts are already clouded by his greed, his wishful thinking. Because when you’re face to face with that alternative, the one where mutuality and love replace unrequited feelings, you can't help but see through rose-colored lenses and wish for that something _ more._

And what good is wishing? What good is _ wanting _ when the one you long for is miles away in your heart, yet always just an arms length distance away to your right?

He stands still and stays quiet, listening to the muffled crash of waves and the distant bantering between Marcin and Martin, silently basking in Luka’s warmth but not so much as to think it real.

He would rather suffer in these silences than stand as a fool with his heart on his sleeve, a beacon calling out to one certain man. He would rather live in the silences, than stand as a fool with hope and hope and hope.

And so... he does. Mihael exists in these silences, and whatever lies between everything and nothing. Wishful thinking, to believe that there exists something real in that in between. Wishful greed, the daggers of hope he can’t seem to truly dodge no matter how fast he thinks he can react.

Deafening silence, the echoes of shame and want thrown into whatever void welcomes this reluctant despair. Calm silence, the rustle of Luka’s jacket against his hoodie, the even breathing of his friend— _in, out, in, out. _

_ Their _ silence, guitar melodies and stolen laughter, a quick embrace and one pair of longing eyes watching the other’s fleeting back as it has always been.

“Sorry,” Mihael eventually replies, sprinkling in some truth. “Just a bit distracted about Worlds.”

Luka nods, tersely agreeing with him. “It’s alright, we all are. Coming out here was a good idea. We really needed some type of break, yeah?”

He lets go of Mihael, unwinds his arms around his support. Luka looks up to him then, the moonlight still cast onto his features. They both stare at each other in the endless way that dreams do, in the inexplicable way they both always seem to understand each other without spoken words.

_ Do you believe in me?_

\- (To perform well at the tournament?) (To not fall in love?)

_ In us?_

\- (To win it all?) (To be something more?)

Moments pass and then… a slight nod from Luka— one of reassurance and warm faith, of trust and an unspoken promise to be the best bot lane the world has ever seen. Mihael returns the nod— one of hopelessness and greed, of unreturned feelings and an unspoken promise to distance himself enough from Luka so that he can stop dreaming like this.

With a million words left on the tip of Mihael’s tongue, Luka softly smiles and places his hands back in his jacket’s pockets, already making his way towards the rest of the team.

He watches him go, just as he always does.

_ It’s cold_, he thinks. 

Mihael wakes up.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hi again everyone :) thank you so much again for reading this far, it really means a lot!  
as we all know... rip the grand slam dream D: but... i'm so insanely proud of our boys' 2019 as a whole! i hope they have an amazing vacation this offseason, deservedly so!
> 
> i'll maybe include a chapter about worlds and maybe an epilogue (?) who knows, but thanks again for reading <3


	3. the spotlight

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "the spotlight shines upon you  
and how could anyone deny you"

His dream starts with the roar of a Parisian crowd, a background hum of chants and cheers and whatever else has found a home in this beautiful, beautiful chaos.

Mihael opens his eyes and basks in this noise, this energy. His hands find themselves in a position he knows all too well— a wrist rested comfortably as his fingers bend to _ QWER_, a wrist rested achingly as his finger bends to _ rightclickrightclick_. Sitting amidst the thousands, he is stung by the truth of it all.

_ This… is not a dream, _he thinks to himself. The scene is too painfully familiar for his liking, the ghost of victory haunting his consciousness still. A blur of a game on his screen, the unclear muffles of the voices of his teammates filtered through his headset. There is a team of five across him, too; champions in their own right, seemingly created from the same marble as his own five.

(Until one of them proved to be something _ more_.)

And of course, for how can he ever ignore him, there sits Luka just a mousepad away to his right. He’s in a similar position as Mihael, except instead of a pair wandering eyes and a floating dream-state state of mind, Luka is nothing but focused on the screen in front of him, a fury of pings and key taps and quick bursts of _ Xayah no heal! _

“Luka,” he hears Marcin call through his headset after some time. “Drake spawns in 50 seconds.”

“Okay, after this wave I’ll push the next one.”

Mihael instinctively looks to his screen, hands moving on their own to click himself around the rift. He looks, and yet there is still just a blur in place of his game, as if there was a filter placed for only his screen.

For just a moment, he forgets himself in his dreams.

_ We can change the outcome this time, we can win this time, _ he quickly thinks to himself. He panics at the stakes of it all, a reminder of the importance of this victory alone.

His mind is in a frenzy-- _ we can do it this time, we can pull this game and we can pull the next two, but why can’t I move, why can’t I seeanything, howcanwewinifIcan’t- _

“Miky, is your ult up?” Luka quickly asks, abruptly halting Mihael out of his chaos. His voice wavers just a bit and for a split second, he can see Luka look toward him from the corner of his eye in worry. “Why are you so far up, what are you doing?”

_ I’m stuck, I’m stuck—_

He remembers.

He remembers, and the whole flood of memories come rushing through Mihael’s mind, and there isn’t anything to be done for the moments that barrel directly into him.

A storm of confetti flurrying onto their fallen heads, five _ DEFEAT _ screens making a mockery of their success throughout the year, up until that point. A final team huddle in the worst way possible, a trophy being lifted out of the corner of his eye. Cheers and laughter, congratulations and smiles-- none of it meant for them.

The moments continue to fly by in a frenzy of mixed realities and bitterness. He remembers Martin standing tall up from his chair, bringing everyone together for one last “_G2!_”, remembers Marcin looking towards thousands of people with an empty stare and the ghost of a smile, the ghost of an almost-champion.

He sees Rasmus forcing himself through precarious smiles toward the cameras, only for the facade to disappear as quickly as came once they made their way to the back room. He hears Duffman and Grabbz quietly consolidating the five of them in that room, the words lost in the buzz that continues to plague Mihael’s mind.

“_I just want to be a human again._”

He sees Luka, sitting a bit away from the team, head in his hands and a glisten of almost-tears that would surely flow if there weren’t this many eyes and camera flashes surrounding them. Mihael remembers rubbing his friend’s back, a quiet exchange in a moment too fragile for words, but not so much that he can’t offer his friend some warmth.

There was nothing he wanted to do more than hold Luka at that moment, he remembers. God, they had just ended their year in the most bitter way possible, and all he could think about was how he never wanted to see his friend in that state of frailty ever again. 

There is something to be said about the simplicity of it all, of how _ this _ is what his mind wants, what his mind _ longs _ for despite the loss upon loss upon loss. 

There are moments when Mihael looks over at Luka and thinks himself blessed. How, just like all things, every seemingly trivial decision has led him to where he is right now.

If his dad hadn’t brought home that cheap PC all those years ago, if he had never decided to download a certain video game on a whim. If his mom hadn’t cared about what those faraway organizations had to say about her son, if he had chosen to instead stay in his hometown to finish his schooling… 

If Fnatic hadn’t shoved him into that substitute spot for so long, if Misfits had never seen something in him worth betting on… 

If Luka had never reached out his hand to Mihael, in what feels like ages ago, and took his chances on that crazy change, that new beginning.

He is blessed right down to the bone for taking that risk and welcoming these insane teammates— friends, _ brothers—_ in his life. He feels as if he’s on top of the world, glory and victory and everything someone like him could ever wish for. But somehow… somehow, it all feels as if it isn’t enough.

Because the only thing humans are good for is wanting more, greeding for more.

And Mihael is no better.

There are moments, like this, when Mihael looks over at Luka and thinks himself cursed. How wretched is it that he had just lost the most important series of the year, maybe his entire _ career,_ yet he wishes only to take his friend’s calloused hands in his own, to hold them tight enough that he can feel the warmth all the way down to his toes.

Wishes only to bring his friend into the curve of his arms, holding him so tightly as if Luka were to float away along with the Parisian winds if he didn’t. 

Wishes only to be greedy and reach out _ his _ hand to Luka in the unspeakable way of wanting _ more _ than this already tender friendship, this sturdy brotherhood. 

It’s been months since their loss at the final. It’s a wound that doesn’t want to be bandaged up no matter how hard Mihael convinces himself that it doesn’t matter as much as he thinks it does. 

_ We made it that far_, he reminds himself. _ We can do it again. We _ will _ do it. _

But glory and victory be damned, trophies and titles be forgotten. A part of him, the part that can never fucking let go of these tiny hopes and wishes, just wants to be able to stay like this. Just wants to be able to continue as they are, the five of them— Luka just an arms length away to his right, his three brothers just beyond.

But clichés are clichés for a reason, and nothing good lasts forever. And this is how he knows it’s a dream.

Because Luka is no longer beside him.

And how wretched is it that Mihael wakes up.

* * *

There exists a... quiet beauty regarding the simple things in life. Many tend to think that complexity correlates to deeper meanings, more profound thought.

But when all is said and done, when the crowds are silenced and the spotlights are dimmed, it’s the simple things in life are what’s left waiting for you, waiting to welcome you home.

Mihael knows this all too well.

He knows it in the way there is no need to search for the best pizza anywhere he travels when he already knows the best is right back at home in Čušperk. He knows it in the way there is a comfortable bliss in simply watching anime, climbing soloq, and staying inside back at home in the gaming house.

He knows it in the way there is no need to look further than Luka, no need to look further than him whom he has found a home in.

Home is his sisters yelling at him to lower his voice on Skype while they try to sleep, is his four brothers yelling at him through his headset to land a Nautilus hook for once.

Home is a simple guitar melody and a pair of mischievous green eyes. A sturdy rock upon which he can proudly stand upon, an endless ocean upon which he can blissfully float in.

But home… home is far away. 

Because home is still a shining star unsatisfied with complacency, _needing _change after change after change. Still chasing glory through more means than one — two seats away instead of simply by his side. 

And maybe the simplest truth of it all, the most bitter truth, is that this is how it was always meant to be.

Because dreams are just simply dreams, and he is trying his damnedest, but Mihael… 

Mihael is no better.

_END._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hello again, this is very long overdue and very miky centric :')
> 
> sorry (not rly) for the sad ending, but this guy luka the bazooka decided to swap mfing lanes AGAIN!! i had this written up a couple months ago, but took a while to edit in the fact that uma jan is now uma gone (F)
> 
> ill be writing an epilogue for this at some point down the line so, as always, thanks for reading this far, happy valentines day and happy 2020 #G2ARMY!


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